Nico's Adventures
by AnnaCromwell
Summary: A series of stories chronicling the adventures of our favourite son of Hades, Nico di Angelo. (Characters may seem a little OOC)


Hades' togas be damned, I wasn't going to walk another step. Now you may be wondering what Hades' toga has anything to do with me going places. My father, the honoured Lord of the Underworld, decided that instead of his shades, he was going to send his son to fetch his ceremonial toga from Hermes' laundering service, which, apparently, has a special washing section for my father's togas.

Some father-son bonding idea that was.

Anyway, I had walked the entire expanse of Washington DC, determined to take in every change in the city before I went and fetched my father's package. That was a bad idea. Now I was too tired to shadow travel.

"Taxi!" I called out. A man pulled down his window, looking at me. One look and he decided not to ferry me. Did I dress that badly?

"Sorry kid, but I ain't taking boys with skull rings and toy swords like that. The Drama Centre is that way, if that's where you were heading." With that, he sped off. Great. I walked into a Starbucks, buying a good-sized shot of espresso. After all, Italian habits die hard. Downing my brew, I headed out, not rejuvenated but caffeinated enough to fight a hellhound lurking in an alley.

"Taxi!" I call again. This too, stops. The taxi driver poked her head out, a pretty female, just a few years elder than me, and pretty eager. I must look clean, or she must be into emo.

"Where to?" she asks.

"UPS," I say, flopping in the back seat. "Head office."

"Work there?" she asks.

"No. Got to visit my uncle. Head at the office there. Got to pick up some stuff also."

"Oh. Uncle owns UPS, huh?"

"Sort of." She starts the engine, telling me about herself, how she's just doing this for charity, her dad actually the ambassador for the United Kingdom. Her British accent is engaging. She asks me if I'm the grandnephew of the Italian ambassador Alessandro di Angelo, I say yes. Alessandro was my younger cousin, a son of Athena and was born just as I turned ten and was shoved into the Lotus Casino. I found out the Athena part last summer.

We reach UPS and she parks the taxi in a nearby alley. Getting in the back, she reaches to pick up the backpack I carry. Stumbling a little, she falls onto me. That, was unwanted and definitely unexpected.

"You're really cute," she tells me. I'm freaking out now. "Hey, meteor! Shut your eyes," she says chirpily, and it seems like she's charm-speaking, because I do shut my eyes. Next thing I know, I'm being kissed.

I am bi, but that does NOT mean anyone starts making out with me in the back seat of a cab.

And the worst thing?

I'm enjoying it.

As soon as I gather my bearings, and she pulls away, I pick up my bag and get out. "Call me!" she calls out. How? I realise that as I'm drinking water, for her number has already been fed into the monster-proof demigod phone Annabeth gave me. _My little brother goes nowhere without this, _she'd said. I already had three missed calls from her and Percy. She'll kill me when I get to camp.

Somehow pushing the incident at the back of my mind, I enter UPS, finding Hermes at the counter.

"Ah! Nico!" he says jovially. "You're here for your father's clothes. Come," he says, and we enter the main building. The Underworld seems this vast and endless.

"I know; it's huge," Hermes remarks. He heads over to a section while I'm busy following him and looking at the crates of souvenir T-Shirts that read "Do You Think You're Smarter than a Demi-god? I AM!" Must be some show on Hephaestus TV.

"Here you go!" he says, thrusting a black coat-bag, inside which are the three robes which my father sent for laundering. The souls trapped make agonizing faces, which I ignore. I see them enough when I'm on the inspection with Father. Hermes' snakes, George and Martha, smile at me, George attempting a high-five.

_I wish I had hands. I could've high-fived you, di Angelo. How's camp, buddy? _George says in a series of hisses which I somehow do understand.

"We could do an air-five," I say, and mime a high-five in the air in George's direction. "And camp's doing well."

_Thanks, bud!_

"Nico," the god turns to me.

"Yes, sir?"

"Have Connor and Travis been turned into bushes yet?"

"Not yet, Lord Hermes. Although Mr D sure isn't happy with them." A grin appears on his face.

"My boys. Tell cabin 11 I'll be dropping by to see them in three days' time." Hermes was one of those gods who made sure he visited his children at least thrice a year. My father IM'd me weekly. He'd grown closer ever since the Giant War. I like that nonetheless. At least he IM's me weekly, although I wish he didn't send me to fetch his togas.

Exiting UPS, I head to McDonalds, eager for a meal. Seriously, McDonalds is Olympus here, on Earth (pun intended). Getting a good seat, I put my stuff there and order a Happy Meal, this time with a wrap instead. They're playing "Working Man" by Imagine Dragons, and, frankly, I feel like dancing. I love this band, and this song too.

"Your order, sir," the guy at the counter says. I shoot him a smile, take my order and sit.

Now, to eating. I eat all the food I order in record time. To anyone else, it would look like I'm inhaling it, I was eating that fast. Finished with my meal, I go out, hide in the alley behind and shadow-travel.

* * *

><p>"Good job," my father says. "It doesn't seem like any monsters got my son this time."<p>

"Nope," I reply, popping the P. He smiles at me, and at that time, I feel like I have an actual, caring father. The underworld isn't all bad if your dad suddenly becomes like that.

"Since Persephone is gone, I believe we can spend some time together. What do you want to do?" He's asking me?

"Well, if you wouldn't mind, father, I would like to play," I speak.

"What? Pinochle? Mythomagic? I have a lot of time today."

"No," I speak, my voice slightly smaller now. "A video game. Something-"

"Like Asphalt 8? Prepare to be beaten, son," he says with an impish grin.

"You're on," I say with a grin mimicking his, heading to the lounge. Father-son days like this were worth fetching his togas from DC.


End file.
